


Burn My heart Out

by Lazylupe



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, game of thrones
Genre: F/M, Game of Thrones - Freeform, GoT, Sandor - Freeform, Sandor Clegane - Freeform, clegane - Freeform, hbo game of thrones, hbo got, the hound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 07:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18889525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazylupe/pseuds/Lazylupe
Summary: Tumblr Request: Are your requests still open? If so could I request a little something? Could you write something for this weeks episode? Maybe Sandor coming for the reader just like he did for Arya with Beric pointing out that the reader is still fighting the dead and he helps her? and that the reason why they stay inside the great hall and we don't see him for the rest of the episode?? does that sound like a good story?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SECOND CHAPTER IS SMUT HEAVY

A blanket of darkness engulfed the Dothraki riders, the flames of their swords engulfed and smothered quicker than expected. The dead made quick work of the battleground that lay before them, running and crawling across the bodies of the riders, approaching the gates of Winterfell at an alarming speed. Nothing slowed them down except fire, two dragons being flown overhead did as much as they could but the numbers were astronomical.   
No longer did determination cloud the eyes of every fighter at the gates and walls surrounding Winterfell, fear took over, pure terror etching itself onto the bravest of men and women. You had promised to stay in the crypt with the rest of the women and children but that wasn't going to happen, you had to be out there, you couldn't sit still knowing that maybe you could help.  
Swords clashed, against rotten flesh and bones, against walls as they missed, clattered on the ground as their owners fell. The dead toppling over the highest walls, tackling anyone in their way regardless of living or dead, a hive mentality. No real goal but to extinguish all life.   
You stood frozen, watching them kill their way through the keep, your eyes glued on their erratic behaviour. One ran at you, the full force pushing you to the ground, you rolled to your left in a desperate bid of freeing yourself from its clutches. The ground was icy where the snow had once covered the stone, turned to ice from the number of feet that had walked, ran and slipped their way across it. Your body slipped further than you wanted, hands desperately trying to clutch onto the side of the stone roofing. The sharpness of the stones cut your fingers and hands bloody, the pain brought tears to your eyes as you slowed to stop on the top of the small roofing.   
Your feet managed to find some footing as you stood yourself upright, you ran along towards the wooden door, trying your hardest to get to the main part of the castle, you could see them fighting below, your drive to get to the depths of Winterfell drove you faster. You could hear them breaking in through the gates now, the yells from the men below as they died was heartbreaking, you couldn't make out who was who but you prayed to the seven that Sandor was still alive.   
The door was within your reach, you could practically tickle the handle if you stretched your arms out. It was flung open, revealing multiple dead men and women, all with various states of decomposition to them, and a marvellous blue to their eyes. Captivating, yes, hideous and nauseatingly scary, also yes. Your stomach dropped, your pulse quickened, the blood thumping around your veins so quickly that you could hear it in your ears. The cold sweat dripping down your back which in turn made your hands clammy.   
Ducking as one made a swipe for you, you pushed with your might to break through them, shoulder barging past as many as you could. Their cold dead hands trying to hold onto you, pull you backwards. The will to live was stronger, you had to break through and get into the halls, you knew it and they did too.   
It wasn't long before you were crawling on your hands and knee, knocking legs from underbodies, the clattered to the floor, still grasping out towards you, desperate to clutch anything. A hand had found its way to your shoulder, clutching the cloth of your tunic, its fingers digging into your skin. You tried to pull the fingers away, frantically kicking out at the figure in front, you weren't ready to end this fight. Not yet, at least.   
It dawned on you, the hand upon your shoulder was warm, warm with rushing blood in its veins. It was alive, it belonged to a human, a living one. The relief washed over you, your eyes springing open, to gaze upon your rescuer. Brown eyes stared back at you, a mix of emotions haunting them, one of relief the other of worry. You could see the scars on his face twitching with irritation, "up Lass, get up! I've got ya!" He heaved you up to your feet as Beric took out the rest of the undead.  
"What on earth were ya doing up there by yaself?" His tone was of an annoyed father more than anything else. "I, well, I..." You bowed your head, watching the dust and snow settle around your feet. "Seven hells! It doesn't matter, ya alright now, but we gotta keep moving!" His voice was gruff, eyes still not leaving your face, hand now gripping your arm. You stared at him, the long dark hair still managed to cover as much of the scars as it could, his height towering above everyone intimidated even the biggest of men. He was broad and muscled, rough around the edges but shockingly kind when it came to it.   
The three of you kept close, heading down towards the great hall, Beric dispatching as many undead as he could, Sandor keeping you and himself safe from the ones Beric missed. His hand had slipped from your arm and now rested in your arms, fingers interlocked. Your stomach flipped, butterflies fluttering heavily inside, the threat of danger seemed minuscule to the threat that Sandor might accidentally unearth your unrequited love for him.  
"There's Arya upahead, she needs help. I think you two should stay here, I'll go help her!" Beric nodded towards the wooden door that now stood off to your left, you mentally kicked yourself for not paying enough attention. Sandor grumbled and nodded, "Aye, I think you're right," he opened the door with a heavy hand and led you inside. The door boomed shut behind you, the scraping of tables and the odd curse from Sandor could be heard as he barricaded himself in the room with you.   
"This should hold 'em." He had turned to look at you once more. "Thank you, Sandor! You could have just let them have me, you were down in the yard when I was on the tower."   
"I couldn't have let it happen, I'm not the shit I once was." You approached him slowly, "I appreciate it all the same!" Slowly you raised your hand to stroke his chest. He watched it intently as if it were going to spring cold blue eyes and attack him. "You don't know what ya doing, Lass," He took a step backwards but not enough to be without your touch.  
"Oh, yes I do, and I've wanted to do it for a long time!" You replied.


	2. Burn My Heart Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUT HEAVY

Your hand remained on his chest, his larger one covered yours, "you could do better, have better, you don't want this old Hound taking you." His voice was dangerously low as he allowed his self-loathing to permeate the room. "Sandor, a night with you is what I've wanted since our paths crossed, seven hells I'd spend every night with you if we survive this damned night!" Your voice was loud and shrill, your emotions getting the better of you. Tomorrow wasn't promised and the man you had fallen in love with now stood in front of you, holding your hand to his chest, the closest you'd ever been. Truly this was a sign from the gods above, he was meant to be with you and you with him.  
Stepping up onto your tiptoes you pressed your lips to his gently, pulling back before his mind would punish him again and he'd reject you, "I'm sorry, Sandor, I don't mean to force myself upon you, I just, thought you had the right to know how I felt." You turned to walk away, not wanting to hear the harsh words he'd no doubt utter to you, he would probably call you a stupid cunt.   
Nothing came, no insults, no refusals or declaration of hate. Instead what could be heard were his footsteps, not walking away but getting closer, his hand reached out tentatively, placing itself on your shoulder he spun you round to face him. "I'm no Ser, and I sure as fuck ain't no gentleman either, but for you, I'd be every bit as loyal." He bent his body down, his face looming into yours as his lips found their destination once more. His kisses were rough, almost amateur like, his beard tickled and scratched your face at the same time but he lit a fire within you that wouldn't extinguish.   
Soft lips, wet tongues and roaming hands are what your kisses consisted of, his hands had roamed from your hair, neck and shoulder to your back and eventually landing on your buttocks, giving each cheek a squeeze. He wasn't gentle, yet, you didn't expect him to be. You gave a small yelp that was muffled by his mouth still kissing yours, his response was a gruff chuckle.   
Sandor picked you up, pulling you into his body as he carried you towards a table that had been pushed up against the wall, your hands locked behind his head as your kisses became feverish, frenzied attacks on his lips. He was something that you could get used to, something that you could kiss every day and never tire of it.   
Gently, he sat you onto the table, pushing your legs apart with one of his knees he stood between them, looking at you, as if he was devouring you with his eyes, making sure he remembered how you looked. If tonight was all he would get with you by the old Gods and the New he was going to remember every last detail.   
You kept eye contact with him as you pushed the furs you were wearing down your shoulders and arms, allowing them to pool at your waist on the table, your dress was next, pushed all the way down to expose your breasts to the cool air and to Sandors devouring eyes. A growl escaped from his throat as he bent himself over you, kissing and nibbling at your neck as his large hands pawed at your breasts, squeezing them, pulling and pinching at your nipples.   
Your back arched, pushing your chest forward, begging for more of his attention, "please, Sandor, I need more." He unbuckled his armour, letting it clang to the floor, his breaches were already pulled down his thighs, his cock springing free from them. Hard, long and thick, you didn't expect anything less from a man of his stature.   
He pulled your dress up legs, exposing your silky thighs, stroking his fingers up and down the soft flesh you purred, pushing your crotch closer to him, without any words you begged for him to touch you there. He smiled a devilish grin, one full of mischief and lust without, his fingers slid over your wet opening, stroking gently against your clitoris. The shock waves propelled your head backwards, sighs and whimpers were all you could muster.  
Without warning a finger entered you, slowly filling as he turned his hand, his long finger stroking your g-spot, over and over again. With every whimper, he produced from your mouth the faster his stroking became. He was aiming for something, knew you'd never give it up without a fight but he was determined. Sooner rather than later he felt it, your walls become slicker, his hand drenched in your sweet juices, he inserted another finger, stroked you harder and faster, his thumb rubbed across your clit, and you came undone on his hand, "fuck me, Sandor." And with that he did.  
Withdrawing his fingers he slid his hard cock into you, you moaned loudly, hips bucking into his wildly, begging him to move, thrust or grind, it didn't matter how he moved you just needed him to move.   
He thrust his hips into yours, harder and faster than his fingers had been. The head of his cock hit your g-spot consistently, your hand went between your bodies to rub your clit, just enough to cause the same vibrations in your stomach that you just felt earlier. His hand was on your breast, fingers rolling across your nipples, making it hard to the touch, aching.  
He bent his head low, took your nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, his teeth grazed against it as he playfully bit it, that was all you needed, his name left your mouth in the form of another orgasm, his wasn't far behind, the last few thrusts were sloppy and unbridled, he emptied himself inside of you as his face buried itself into your neck, your name was no longer your own but his as he whimpered it into the night air, every cry was another victory for you.   
"Sandor, I love you." You panted as he left your body, pulling your dress up and the furs around your shoulders to keep you warm. His eyes met yours, "and I you, Kitten."


End file.
